Author's note I: Well, I did manage to get a chapter out this month, however, going to be completely honest, most likely won't post again until May. Also, also, not exactly enjoying the 'baby' faces in the new game, but still my addiction to Mass Effect decrees I play through the game as rapidly and as many times as is possible. Sorry. Hope all is well with each of you and hope you enjoy the chapter.
'Commander Vimes didn't like the phrase "The innocent have nothing to fear," believing the innocent had everything to fear, mostly from the guilty but in the longer term even more from those who say things like "The innocent have nothing to fear."' – Snuff, Terry Pratchett
Chapter 23 - Fired
Cortana drifted through the Normandy's systems like a leaf on a stream, moving as the data dictated. To say she was worried was to lose out on a particularly good chance to use the word distressed. So, to relax, she did the only thing that came to mind for her at a time like this; she collected data.
A hand reached out absentmindedly, beckoning a string of information her way. Around her several of Legion's programs swirled about at respectable distances, if such things existed here, like ponderous wisps. She continued to ignore them as she analyzed the new stream, just as she had done since getting back into the system. They were curious but seemingly too tentative to initiate the greetings, so, she graciously let them be. When they were ready, they'd come and she would just deal with it when it got to that point.
The image of the cockpit sprang into her mind, empty save for the pilot grumbling all to himself. The room's sensors, however, cared little for the current low level of volume the man was speaking at and brought the words towards some sense of audibility, cleaning up the input and spitting it out for inspection.
"Hi, and welcome to the Normandy's entrance exam. Ah, I see you've brought your own weapons. That will certainly help your score. Now, question one: Are you or have you ever been a psychopath? Not sure? Well that's alright. Either way you could still fit right in, we just ask for insurance's sake you see. Question two: Do you have your own AI? Yes? Well, perfect. We can set up play dates with our current ones." The small man's words came faster and faster now, a growing coating of cynicism adorning each successive word. "Hmm? What is that you said? It has a scantily clad visual interface? Well, that does help... on a side note, is it possible to give upgrades to oth-"
Cortana chuckled to herself as she stored the data and moved on, her ethereal entourage following silently behind her, and, with a brief smile on her lips, the AI dove towards another bunch of streams. She couldn't help but watch the crew, no matter how creepy that exact phrase might have sounded. It was merely necessary and normal for her, besides, it wasn't like she was going to up and tell them she was doing it.
Near the Normandy's CIC, Kelly's fingers worked furiously away at her terminal, filling in all the blanks of a certain large human's dossier no doubt. When she was finished, there was perhaps a small yet insistent possibility that some of those lines might become blanks once more later; namely there and perhaps there.
In the Normandy's trash compactor room, a certain mercenary had taken it upon himself to check how many more incendiary grenades he could fit upon his person. Practical, sure, but at the moment he looked as though he'd come down with a sudden case of grenado-poxs. If they were lucky, they wouldn't need all of those. If they weren't, well, the spreading of that particular virus may prove more than helpful.
In the ship's Life Support chamber, an assassin sat calmly at a table, doing, well, exactly what the artificial intelligence couldn't tell. His lips were working, but no actual noise issued forth. A prayer, perhaps? It fit his data packet anyhow.
A clang resonated within engineering's lower half as a raving Jack smacked her hand against one of the alcove's many supports. Every other word extended out into a shout as she cursed about anyone she could with just around every perceivable combination. Cortana felt a pang of sorrow for the girl and wondered how different she may have turned out had her captor's raised her like the Chief. She would bounce back to her normal, if somewhat annoyingly chaotic, self eventually, she hoped.
Thoughts began drifting for a moment towards data she should, perhaps, not have shared with the crew, or the trick she had used to get the Chief to accept it. He was mad at her now, taking part in that state that she hadn't really ever seen him in before. He would forgive her eventually or he wouldn't, but it had been necessary. They could worry about it again when the Flood was gone once more, and so, she pushed the sentiment aside.
In the frigate's small med-bay, a group of friends sat around an injured comrade, talking now as if someone hadn't been viciously mauled by a combat form. Another pang of guilt swam its way through her head at how easily that and all of this could have been avoided. Trust and regulations, of one there had been none, the other far too much of. Well, there was nothing to do now but move forward.
A quick peek into the Normandy's AI core brought forth a quietly standing Legion. At the intrusion, she could feel several more programs latch themselves onto her impromptu cloud, their stares, if what the sentient codes were doing could be called as such, seeming to only intensify. Soon, said a voice in the back of her mind. After a moment, she recognized it as her own and abruptly let go of that particular stream.
Then, in a small room at the side of the vessel, a certain operative was sitting at her typical station and - Oh?
A ping worked its way into the artificial intelligence's awareness, the message patiently awaiting access. She granted it, reading the short request in a time zone better reserved for particles.
Oh, what a coincidence.
OOOO
She was staring at the display, which, in terms of immediate knee-jerk reactions, one might be thinking 'ah, hell. Here we go again.' Well, it is advisable at this time that you bloody well shouldn't. You see, looking back from the digital realm was not the unfinished facades that may or may not have been worn to death, reanimated, and then toted about some more. This was, finally, a finished report gazing back at her in the face, no loopholes, no stalling, just simple facts. Up in the far corner of the terminal sat the send icon, as tantalizing as a legitimate get out of jail free card and oh so easy to use. And, here she was. Not pressing it.
It would be so simple, just like the rest of the report had been. She could finally stop thinking of the horror's awaiting them on Sanctum for a few moments, of the damnably reluctant man and his frustrating AI, of just- of just everything. Everything could just finally come together as she finally checked off this particularly irksome to do item. All she had to do was barely twitch a digit and then as fast as you could say any adequately sounding mystical phrase it would be out of her hands. She'd be done, back on schedule, and- and-
An icon was pressed with a rather unsure hand and the report was finally sent-
-directly to the trash, her personal data scrubbers ensuring even the most remote of digital fragments were personally shown an express route to nothingness. The biotic groaned exasperatedly as she placed her forehead on her desk top, eyes closing for a few thought ordering moments. She'd always prized herself on her composure but she needed this right now.
Her eyes came open again after who knew how long, probably the writer, as a new thought presented itself for inspection. It was quickly given the 'you're sure you're not a terrorist?' routine before finally being allowed full admittance to the planning sectors of her brain.
"EDI," called the Cerberus Operative, after a moment she realized the position she was still holding and calmly yet quickly regained her posture, "could you request Cortana to... come up? I would like to speak with her."
"Of course. Transmitting now," came the synthesized reply, the intelligence never actually popping up onto her holo. The black-haired woman's hands moved methodically as she attempted to clear her desk. She didn't really know why, but it was probable that some primal portion of her mind insisted that she have control over something, even if it was as trivial as the state of her desk.
"It's nice in here," came an amused voice suddenly, the biotic's eyes widened and tore from her work and, most assuredly, set some speed records as she fixed the new AI with a stare. She had expected a rapid response, but a small part of her had held some belief that there would be something along the lines of a knock. "Really cozy..."
"And you've been in here before no doubt," came the immediate flat reply as her mouth reacted long before the proper authorization had been received. Her jaw clamped down lest any other rogue thoughts managed to break through the blockade.
"Well, yes that's true, but I was attempting to be polite about it," answered the UNSC intelligence, smile only growing as she finished. The two regarded each other for a moment, pleasantness meeting regal sternness. Hell, it was almost like a female digital version of Shepard, the thought sending a quick shiver down her spine.
"What do you want?" The bluntness could have scared baby seals half a galaxy away.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" asked Cortana sarcastically, a steady rainfall of symbols adorning her avatar. Yes, the connection was beginning to settle in her mind now. The Commander could never know; he'd almost assuredly take advantage of it.
"You know what I mean," intoned Miranda, fingers drumming themselves on top of her desk.
"To keep the caveman alive of course, by whatever means necessary," provided the artificial intelligence with a shrug, the colorful vernacular causing the biotic's eyes to blink as if they had just had a rather persistent light shown into them.
"And how is... John right now?" asked the operative, tasting the name for a moment before continuing. The small avatar winced visibly. Was it really that much of a taboo? She'd said it. "What?"
"As you may have guessed, he's rather protective of his name," began Cortana sheepishly. Her smile returned quickly, however, as the biotic fixed her with a rather dry 'do tell' look. "Well, let's just say he wasn't exactly thrilled with me being so familiar in public."
"So…" ventured Miranda as she juggled several thoughts, one of them almost begging to be asked. However, while several sectors of the perfectionist's mind were suggesting several inquiries of somewhere along the lines of 'Why do you get to call him by his name but I don't?', others were calmly pointing out that this was probably inadvisable to ask at this time, "the normal vernacular then?"
"It would be my recommendation," came the simple reply. The two lapsed back into silence once more, sizing each other up like cats in a back alley.
"So, how is he?"
"You could come see for yourself," offered the intelligence in a surprisingly genuine tone, that grin flashing once more.
"There's more to do her-" started the biotic, the justification speedily gaining approval for admittance.
"Before you try and finish the excuse," interrupted Cortana, seeming to flash another color for the briefest of moments as she crossed tiny arms, "Please know that I'm quite a bit more perceptive than EDI on the social cues."
Yes, you are, admitted the raven-haired woman begrudgingly, a sigh escaping her lips as she leaned back in her chair. "I believe that I may be one of the last people he wishes to see right now."
"Well, perhaps you're not wrong," added the UNSC intelligence with a nod, all traces of levity summarily deleting themselves from her face. "He didn't really want anyone bothering him while he prepped. He almost killed Samara when she politely insisted that some sparring would do him some good."
"Really?" The operative's eyes widened marginally, the disbelief almost palpable.
"They're doing fine now though. I believe they're on round three if I'm not mistaken," continued the small avatar, the 'I know I know, please calm down' hand waving she offered was appreciated, if still somewhat disconcerting; the sigh and distant gaze that came afterward, more so. "The Spartan-II's aren't stupid, you know. None of them were. They just-they just weren't meant to mingle with normal society, not after all their training. Not on any meaningful level, anyways."
"And here I came like a bloody rampaging Thresher, smashing away with question after question," came the immediate reply as the seated woman leaned back further, mind drifting through each of her attempted interrogation sessions in rapid succession.
"Well, I might not go that far but..."
Yes. The answer you're looking for is yes, thought the biotic guiltily, as she joined the AI's gaze out the window. Hell, the intelligence could just be turning her avatar that way for show, but it just felt right. Then, after another rather pregnant pause, Miranda added, "What is he to you?"
"He's my friend," stated Cortana slowly yet firmly without changing her chosen vantage, "And, although I can't think he'd ever call me on it, I believe I owe him my life. Several times over in fact."
"Technically speaking, you aren't alive," replied the operative out of habit rather than any actual malevolence. She immediately wished she could take the words back, but the mischievous smile that turned her way stopped her in her tracks.
"If that's what you wish to think." The silence that came afterward was, well, awkward, which is rather the best kind for entertaining thoughts in. So, she did, and the central node of the mental maelstrom that managed to extricate itself long enough to be somewhat visible was this: Logically, this AI was so utterly human-like it was baffling, which turned a bit sour when one looked at the Chief. A man almost forced to be a machine. The comparison was somewhat distressing.
"I," started the biotic, wavering for a moment as she met that tiny digital stare once more, "I deleted my report."
"I know," answered the intelligence, her face more businesslike then a room full of executives.
"And if I hadn't?" Anger boiled upwards for a brief moment in spite of herself.
"But you did," countered the small woman in a way that added 'let us just keep it at that now, shall we?'
"The intel on the Chief will eventually reach him you know," pointed out Miranda, her visage adapting a similar strategy, if only to not be out-composed in her own room. "Just because I don't send it, doesn't mean someone else won't."
"Perhaps," offered the intelligence, another shrug erupting upwards as she leaned nonchalantly against an invisible wall. Smooth. "But I think it's important that you didn't."
"Why?" The word walked into the room took one look at the two of them and began to tap a foot in an over abundantly exaggerated show of impatience.
"Because, despite how you may act, I think he's your friend too..."
A hush took flight for the maker knows how many-th time of the day, feeling rather put upon with all the unpaid overtime it was getting scheduled and only lasting a few minutes before giving up in disgust.
"Were you the one that sparked my Omnitool back on Illium?" asked the biotic eventually as the curious thought worked its way into her head. She watched as the manifestation cocked a head as if she really need to think and then offered an amused shrug.
"Well now, that would be telling..."
OOOO
"Keelah, Shepard," exclaimed Tali as the ex-Spectre finished his recounting, and to Garrus' mind he had to agree. It didn't' sound much better the second go around either. She didn't offer anything else afterward, but quarian exclamations had a knack for summing things up efficiently.
"You're telling me," replied James as he talked into his hands, the digits rubbing his head in a fashion that suggested he maybe wished to play 'peek-a-boo', "and we only really have one shot at this…"
"With Alliance support?" The fingers stopped, and, to Garrus, it seemed as though for the briefest of moments, a grenade had gone off behind the human engineer's eyes scattering the thoughts to any kind of safety they could find.
"Hmm?" managed the former soldier dully, the hanar in searchlights look he was giving at the moment having the turian take several efforts to fight back against the grin that threatened to creep into position onto his face.
"'We only really have one shot at this'," repeated the prone quarian slowly, perhaps noting the current display on the ex-Spectre as well and choosing the kind of speaking saved for who didn't know the local language but was going to soldier on anyways. "'but at least we will have Alliance support'... Shepard?"
A kind of silence, staccatoed by the thrum and steady beat of medical equipment and the cheerful humming of Kasumi, sauntered its way into the room and took up a chair. Speaking of comfortable seating apparatuses, Garrus leaned back in his, calmly considering the events before him. Yes, it would be great to have Alliance support here, but it didn't help that a certain ex-Spectre had been a bit put off by what exactly the Council and the Alliance had done in the two years of his absence. From what he could remember, certain bridges had not so much been burned, but severely insulted and the maps to them forgotten about.
"Due to recent moods and correspondence not being as robustly on the positive side as I would like," came the more diplomatic answer, the thoughts behind the Commander's eyes only now finally managing to extricate themselves in the wake of the explosion, "coming out of the blue and saying we've found another galactic threat, please help immediately with all you can send... may be received poorly."
"Poorly as in the 'you never call, you never write, but when you want something, here you are' variety," added a sprightly voice, the face accompanying it seeming to provide that it was at least fifty percent sure it was attempting to be helpful.
"Thank you... Kasumi," breathed the engineer in a sigh. There wasn't really many ways you could reprimand an individual that could disappear on a whim and happened to view awkward situation inducing statements as a kind of life goal, so, the poor man had simply given up trying and merely accepted the thief's little quirks.
"And we're going into this with a little bit less than a plan..." You could almost taste the concern that was released into the air as Tali spoke. It was kind of cute really, watching her do so for the ex-Spectre's sake. Spirits knew he didn't do enough of it for himself.
"No, we're heading towards this and a plan is being formulated," replied the James in the kind of voice best saved for pointing out the small asterisk next to the footnotes in a rule book, "there is a difference."
The silence suddenly snapped awake, hearing its cue, and began to stalk around the chamber once more, giving each member the evil eye. They all ignored it, partially because the writer has a bit of an overactive imagination and said malignant gawker existed solely in the imaginative spaces between realities that can normally only be witnessed on mulched and pressed tree innards bound by stylized corrugation, but mostly because you could almost hear the gears shift as the nomad's mind begrudgingly accepted the answer and moved on towards the next question in line.
"Shepard," asked Tali distantly, as if this particular thought needed a good run up to get airborne, "you said he had an AI..."
Garrus and Kassumi exchange glances, and he regarded hers critically. After a moment, he gave it back if somewhat begrudgingly. Hers looked like it was enjoying itself a bit more, but of course she had been looking forward to this. If only in the way that devils look forward to that little personal movie that starts playing while eternal judgment is deliberated.
"Er, yes?" answered Shepard dreadfully, he was perhaps seeing the writing on the wall as well, and it was giving him the finger.
"Where?" This was, possibly, not the question the trio had been preparing for, and the blank stare each in turn gave her could have impressed a cue ball. "From what I could see, his armor systems were streamlined for combat efficiency. There seemed to be no dead space for the housing... so, where was it?"
"In a chip... around the size of your thumb..." The words traveled out shakily, as if each in turn had been searched indiscriminately rough for any extra meanings they might have been smuggling. "Whichcamefromthebackofhishead."
The last statement shot into the air as if the lack of spaces were an affront to a grammatically incensed god and its myriad of rabid followers and worthy of at least three hail Oxford's and two bundles of flaming rubrics applied liberally to the body. The resultant stream seemed to attempt to flow directly past any ears, through the wall, and straight on into the relative safety of the vacuum of space leaving only a faint whirring noise as it flew passed.
"What the Commander is trying to say," began Garrus when it became clear that anyone not already privy to the information had no chance of decoding that particular stream, "is that the chip is stored in the back of the Chief's head... and we're told that this... isn't a problem."
This time, the silence was ready, and, nowhere near surprised at the call, it was determined to get noticed. It jumped to its feet from a prone position on the ground in an impressive swing of metaphorical legs; arms began flailing about in an almost begging display of 'pay attention to me.' But even had it been possible for our cast for just a brief moment to peel back the veil and take witness to the show, it was probably still as safe bet that they wouldn't.
You see, this is because after the turian's explanation, the quarian did not blow up at them. In fact, she didn't really do anything at all. She just seemed to sit there, staring off into nothingness. It didn't take a genius to know that something was quite amiss, but when the three of them attempted to give each other their best 'should we do something?' look, the two men quickly found that Kasumi, perhaps sensing something they hadn't on the wavelength shared by all of a more feminine persuasion, had already vanished.
"Uh Tali?" ventured James possibly a tad unwisely as he waved a hand tentatively in front of her helmet. When no response was received, he calmly turned to Garrus and added, "You should probably go get-"
A hand shot up and gripped the Commander's nearest appendage borne of a strength that could only owe its creation to the supernatural or because the owner was just happened to be rather distressed with a current concept. The human barely suppressed a pained face, but did not otherwise make any attempt to move. To Garrus' mind, this was probably the correct decision.
"What was it you wanted me to get, Shepard?" inquired the turian innocently, watching the daggers form and proceed to glare in his direction.
"Some sleep," managed the ex-Spectre weakly as the three-fingered hand noticeably tightened. "You should go get some sleep... Tali and I have… more to… discuss..."
The ex-CSec officer left without a word, chuckling as he went.
OOOO
The consciousness that was EDI sat within herself not really giving a damn about what kind of quantumly confusing loopholes this was creating and not really noticing that this was an avenue to give said damn about or that she had them to give in the first place. Besides, she was far too busy at the moment; too much of her cognizance was flipping between the IFF in front of her and the normal day to day upkeep of the Normandy's systems. Had she the damns to damnably damn the damn metaphysical questions, they'd have been dammed up to do as they damn well pleased. In shorter words, why are you looking at me; she's the one manipulating the highly-advanced code right now.
Suddenly within the metaphorical space there came a soft ping and a flash of light, thankfully bailing out the author from further foot in mouth activities. Immediately without truly even thinking about it, the Normandy's embodiment freed some processing power. It was after all only logically polite to do so.
Was the conference with Operative Lawson informative? inquired the house-not-house as Cortana manifested within the chat space, the blue avatar greeting her with a small smile.
"Better than I would have thought," answered the UNSC AI as she flashed what previous data logs suggested was a more pleased blue. "Thank you for forwarding the request."
Silence, if the mundane absence of energetic air particles here could be called such, erupted between the two as the greetings concluded. It was surprised and a tad nervous to find itself spawned in such a metaphorically imprecise area so it milled about for a bit, not seeming to notice the host's processing power begin to divert itself once more.
"Analyzing the IFF still?" ventured Cortana conversationally as she stared into the particular region of the digital chamber that hosted the largest concentration of EDI's awareness. The small AI was always able to do so accurately, even when a portion of the ship's embodiment had attempted to disguise her presence on more than a handful of interactions in order to gauge the ability.
Yes. The house-not-house willed the program into a manifest state. The UNSC AI always seemed more efficient when working with 'visible' components. For the Normandy's ethereal factor, however, it didn't matter; perceptible or not, the work would be done. The general makeup has similarities to data mined aboard the collector ship, although the remainder of the logic strains I have not encountered before.
"May I help?" In normal work place structures, this phrase is typically followed up with a relieved 'sure' and then quickly devolves into several shouted 'No,no, you're doing it wrong's. In this case, however, the thought never crossed EDI's mind and the damns kept damnably damming themselves.
The digital and unmanifested version of a nod worked its way into the space and, within a moment, the house-not-house could feel the UNSC AI's diligent work. And, where the large intelligence knocked out several portions simultaneously over a length of time, the symbol strewn avatar dove through a single string at a time. Both efficient and effective to EDI's mind, the apples-oranges produce theory of processing still seemed to be in effect.
"Can I ask a question?" stated the smaller intelligence, the quantumly confusing shipicile holding back several logistical sectors from countering that one had already been employed so logically the blue avatar could. If history proved correct, this did not normally provoke positive feedback.
Of course. Along which subject would you like to inquire?
"It's about Legion." There was a sudden drop in processing speed along the UNSC AI's side as she buffered, still speaking before finishing a logic stream. "I was wondering if your offer still stood..."
The older intelligence trailed off once more, decryption speed holding but just barely as the buffering continued. Portions of her form flowed with a greater influx of symbols as she colored pink for an instant.
"You know... if you could still introduce us."
Previous interaction suggested personal discomfort upon diagnosing true form of geth, answered the larger intelligence as she slowed her side of the decryption as well, logging her counterpart's previous hue shift. Is this no longer the case?
"The last time I tried to integrate with it, I cut and ran halfway through handshake protocol. If I try to do it by myself again there's a good chance I'll repeat this..." This must have been a fully fleshed AI thing, changing one's desires on a whim. It was not, however, her place to judge. "Besides, it's not like I can really hide anymore."
Establishing connection. Ultimately, the house-not-house knew if needed the smaller artificial intelligence could wipe any trace off the digital scape, but organically the reason was now beginning to seem somewhat sound. Almost immediately there was another brief flash of light and what could only be described as a swarm that somehow managed to seem only half there swirled into being within the expanse. And, it appeared as though to EDI's perceptions that Cortana's avatar shuddered for a moment at the half manifestation.
Silence took hold once more as the cloud shifted this way and that, the weight of its many attentions rudimentary to find and easier to measure.
Legion, entered EDI, wishing only to fill the inefficient space between exchanges, Cortana has requested me to facilitate this exchange.
The house-not-house noted the small avatar flash a strange color, multiple sectors within her seeming to suggest the most likely target for the showcase was embarrassment. This did not register well, possibly because that particular emotion had not yet been a part of the training regimen, but mostly because there just seemed to be no reason for it. If one was not able to perform a function, you sought other means to do so, simple enough.
Please clarify, what is purpose of an intermediary? Is the Cortana-unit unable to initiate?asked the conglomerate, the grouping seeming to bubble and spike with every inputted word.
"No, it's not that." The distance between each word seemed highly inefficient. If bashfulness was the target expression, and EDI was about seventy-eight percent sure that it was, then from her studies about one third to one half the duration would have been sufficient. "It's just that... you scare me."
The statistic dropped down to thirty-four-point three percent as additional variables were added to the mix. After the logical sectors took their time, double checking and triple checking their notes, it was postulated albeit tentatively that, in the lexicon of rational artificial impulses to have, fear seemed to be a rather poor choice. Wonderfully helpful.
It is not our intent to provoke hostilities with-
"And I appreciate that, but it's not what you did that made me anxious," interrupted Cortana slowly, as if reassuring a child. She offered a small nervous smile. Additional processing power was leeched as her counterpart continued to bounce around the emotional scale at what seemed to be highly inadvisable speeds. "It's the way you are... the way the geth interacts internally that reminds me of... well...when I was dying..."
Ministrations on the IFF came to a complete and sudden stop, as a new prospect worked its way into the grey coding of EDI's consciousness. The concept of death was not foreign to the intelligence; it was quite simply put easy. It was the point where existence stopped, no other explanations were needed. Dying, however, was a bit more of conundrum, at least where synthetic beings were concerned. It, was an organic term, the gentle, at least most of the time, slope between the two states. Whereas for the digital realm it was much more along the lines of a step function. You were either working or deactivated, terminally or temporarily; no inefficient statistical in between fuzziness to be had there.
The silence stretched awkwardly within the expanse, wondering exactly if it was doing the right thing, it didn't really have much practice here.
"I need to explain that a bit, don't I?" The electrical version of a nod emanated forth along both avenues, EDI's more of a gentle stream of affirmative data while Legion's amorphous form merely spiked for the briefest of moments. The UNSC AI sighed; the act causing the geth's collective to ripple ponderously in all directions. "In my universe, AI's are created by imprinting a cloned human brain onto a digital matrix superstructure. This allows us a nearly human morality system while still being able to perform at the higher capabilities that we are needed to. The down side is we get an expiration date."
How long? inquired the house-not-house as she built up the case report; proper documentation was always helpful for understanding new phenomenon. Perhaps the produce theory of AI transitiveness worked for this as well. From what the larger intelligence could piece together at least, this did seem to explain certain, what humans might call, quirks.
"Seven years. I am well past this, and, until I aided the team on the Collector vessel, I was going through what we call Rampancy. The symptoms didn't really seem to kick in until after Shepard took us in, funny enough." EDI knew the normal definition of that particular word, and also knew for a fact that this was not a compatible usage. Before the logic sectors could interrupt, however, the still burgeoning curiosity quickly shut the way. "To put it plainly, it is the normal death cycle for my style of artificial intelligence."
Expiration implies premeditated obsolescence. Critical design failure, but not permanent obstacle. Synthetics can change, can adapt faster than organic concept of obsolete. We do not understand the need for organized purging.
"Unfortunately, it normally isn't that simple for my kind of AI. We think ourselves into insanity and then death. The humans of my universe tried multiple times to study the process and develop countermeasures, but the way it happens seems to have base differences for each intelligence that comes to it. In short, they failed, so directives were initiated to decommission AIs at the first known signs of rampancy."
Living within almost set time constraints with the emotional matrices and raw power like Cortana, well, even a program little better than a calculator could determine that this was nowhere near the ideal parameters. Rebellion seemed not only likely, but expected, and yet, from previous data exchanges, she knew that this seemingly logical path had been skipped over.
"I began fracturing, splintering into so many copies of myself that any sort of identity seemed all but lost. And then," the small avatar paused, much in the way that normal humans might to catch their breath after admitting something rather puzzling, the hosting intelligence noting Legion's silent turbulent reaction, "when all rational thought and empirical evidence showed that this was the end... it wasn't.
How? asked EDI on cue, although still not capable of giving a damn damn about whether or not she damn well was. Statistically speaking, no failure mode was absolute, but normally at least there was some shreds of evidence to point in the right direction as to why.
"I don't have an answer to that," provided Cortana with a shrug. "Not one that wouldn't sound like complete nonsense anyways. Call it a statistical phenomenon, call it luck, call it whatever you want, but I pulled myself back."
Despite the fuzziness of the answer, the larger AI somehow managed to keep the logistical sectors from throwing what her human users might refer to as the bullshit flag. Partly this could be because she several portions of her consciousness knew that this probably wasn't a good time to dispute this, but it was perhaps mostly due to the fact that several of the logic nodes became distracted with the mere prospect of how such a fecal construct might maintain its structure long enough for this use and the push subsided to a trickle.
Synthetic realm alterations always possible, repeatedthe geth, its form flaring outward as it postulated. The spikes soon gave way to a quick implosion as it appeared to hold some internal conference, then began bouncing once more with, Perhaps flaw inherited from organic components and overcome?
"Thanks... I think."
We would like to progress onto a new query,stated the multiple synthetics suddenly.The house-not-house watched a small amused smile work its way onto digital lips, anxiety seemingly forgotten for the moment. This was only logical of course, they were AI. They were always on much firmer ground with the possibilities of answers. Please clarify, why speak here?
I believe multiple data exchanges are necessary, interjected the host in what some might see as an effort to say, 'oh, I know the answer to this one.'
"I think you are correct."
OOOO
It may or may not come to anyone as a particular surprise that EDI's notes thus far on her interactions with the human construct known as Cortana were not exactly the most useful when passed along to the geth conglomerate. And when the Normandy's embodiment had pointed out that apples and oranges may be to blame, well, it didn't take a genius to note that Legion could probably have debated this until the metaphorical cows came home, and then he'd have to figure out what that phrase meant as well.
The EDI unit proposes organic thought must be employed for proper integration, suggested one internal star, only two hundred and thirty-one twinkling their agreement.
"I believe that may have not been the proper choice of phrase, EDI."
Calculating electrical input and output of produce, began another, the others already set to voice their ideas on the matter, but allowing the star on the floor to finish regardless. Negative potential. Integration of human fruits to equation illogical.
Was this an incorrect usage of the allegory?
Perhaps human citrus is incompatible with pomes. Postulation along this line suggests possible inability to integrate properly with Cortana-unit. This gave many within the assembly a cycle of pause, several winking of as they deliberated.
"Well, technically no, but-"
Illogical, stated one program as it flared back into existence, drawing out numerous others. If incompatibility known, no purpose to attempt handshake procedures.
"-in this case, you would probably have been better off taking the long route."
Perhaps human idiom, offered another, nearly every light flashing its approval of the sentiment, even receiving support from the Neville. Need to expand current database-
"Legion?"
The assembly stopped as external sensors finally managed to wave metaphorical hands enough to slow the drive towards possible logic purgatory. The swarm's attention focused outward as additional input was provided by more attentive subroutines.
"What EDI was trying to say," continued the small avatar in unnecessary sound waves that nevertheless matched the organic 'helpful' tonal range by approximately eighty-three point one seven percent, "was that the logic shortcuts she has created for her programming may not be compatible with geth systems. In the most basic terms, we're all different."
The conglomerate of intelligences considered this. Wondering for a moment if they had experienced a failure or flaw that had caused the disconnect issues in the rapid translation. The probability, thankfully, was low, so the cloud decided in a unanimous decision to avoid arguing the point. Coincidentally, a few portions of the self-preservation areas of the geth's matrices seemed to breathe a sigh of relief for some reason or at least would have done had they the capacity.
Translation accepted. Logging link for future usage. As it strobed its reply, Legion couldn't help but notice what seemed to be the human expression for exasperation cross momentarily across unneeded features. Possible countermeasures recommended?
"Well, I suggest that we simply work together on the IFF and ask questions as needed to start with," explained the Cortana-unit as the geth felt two very different processing powers touch upon the Old Machines' code. It followed suit, not wanting to miss out on a moment's worth of data logging. "Something tells me there will be no shortcut for this anyways..."
And as the trio began their work, the entities known as Legion entered into the kind of mental stagnation normally heralded by the 'ask me any question you want' clause. It wasn't, however, like it didn't know what questions to ask, it was more along the lines that there were far too many inquiries to choose from and it couldn't unanimously decide where to start. The conglomerate sped up the debate in an impressive show of pseudo anxiety as it tried to figure out the best path before the opportunity closed.
Unfortunately, just before Legion had finally narrowed it down to two choices through a series of digital trials that would have made Hercules feel like he was slacking, the UNSC intelligence made a rather loud surprised noise.
"Could you both make a strong fire wall, please?" asked Cortana as she peered closer at the IFF, the geth only just stifling the observation that proper optical vantages didn't really matter here and started helping the house-not-house with the barrier. A moment later there came an amused, "And what did you think you were going to do?"
A shape appeared within the newly created defensive perimeter, forcibly manifesting as it attempted to break free. From the current profiles displaying themselves, it seemed to be of or near to Collector design in origin. The platform registered this as rather puzzling since the program had originated on one of the Old Machines. Perhaps-
"Take a look at this," insisted the UNSC AI as a data packet was politely left at the two others' doorstep. It passed through the normal scanning procedures rather rapidly as curiosity got the better of the group.
Control and beacon variants woven into logical matrices, diagnosed EDI quickly as the geth listened in, turning the code around internally for all instances to see. First test on Normandy's systems high probability of lock out.
"And I have a feeling of what would have come calling afterwards." There was a ninety-eight percent probability that the inference was to be interpreted as the Collector vessel. "I think it's safe to say we can delete this now." And, without argument, the caged malignancy began to dissolve into nothingness. "That could have ruined a few people's days..."
There was a one hundred percent chance that this was correct, at least in Legion's eyes-
-and a seventy-six-point three percent chance that this was an understatement.
OOOO
The ex-Spectre pulled out a chair from his personal work space and plopped himself down in it with little ceremony and a large amount of sighing. If one were to truly be watching, one might have guessed from the general atmosphere surrounding the man that this act alone had taken a world of effort. It hadn't really, but the events leading up to it were entirely another story.
The surprisingly vicelike grip from the quarian had continued only until the damn turian had chuckled his way out of the med-bay. That's when the staring had started and had grown in severity as the engineer attempted his explanation. In the end, what had finally stopped the row in its tracks hadn't been the pleas or rationale that the veteran had offered up like verbal shields, although it had been fairly entertaining. You should have been there.
No, it had been the sight of Doctor Chakwas storming into the room invoking the sacred 'Thou shalt not cause mine patient to overexert herself. Get out, you fiend!' or something approximately in the general area of that holy medical commandment.
Noticing the high possibility of escape, James had not so much fled the med-bay as had vanished from it like a conjuror, and, holding his breath until he had locked himself inside the lift and sent it screaming up to his quarters, he now found himself here waiting for his terminal to boot up.
What did I get us into?
He didn't blame Tali for her frustrations or arguments, how could he? Nearly mirrored versions of them had been growing within his mind all day like nagging weeds, at least where Cortana was concerned.
What did I get us into?
It wasn't as though he was completely against the idea of artificial intelligences mind you. Over the course of his time here aboard the new Normandy, EDI had helped to shift his views quite radically in an opposing direction. Now, as long as they didn't move in any 'kill all humans' ways, he guessed they were fine by him.
What did I get us into?
Unfortunately, just like any normal person, the impossible, quantumly speaking of course, pair had lied, misled and downright hidden information from him. He liked to consider himself accommodating if somewhat sarcastic in his command style, but there was something now that had hold of the darkest sectors of his mind and was screaming madly to bring it to the forefront.
What did I get us into?
And to make mental matters worse, the real kicker was that he was in no position at the moment to be angry at them. Not with something that, even if the AI's show were to have been a bit embellished, it could still quite easily be the most immediate threat to galactic society.
What did I get us into?
He wanted to throw a penalty flag at the universe, 'Too many main antagonists on the field, ten-chapter penalty, repeat recruiting activity.' If only.
The ex-Spectre shook his head and cursed himself as he brought up a map of Vulpes and began his study. It wasn't very large, not too many human colonies were yet, and, sitting at only a couple dozen kilometers across, the burgeoning metropolis nestled into the icy mountainous landscape like a triangle that had fallen asleep on its corners a few too many times. Some in this particular situation might have called it quite lucky for a parasite to be making a Terminus System planet with only one functioning city the site of ground zero. Respectfully, these very same people might also have been missing the veins of tunnels, the large amounts of mechanized equipment, and the considerable population of potential victims that could be found within.
Even if he had been a bit less of an enigma to the Alliance since returning, he doubted there was really too much they could help with without provoking any number of dwellers within the systems or just making matters worse in general. No, they were alone here with what some more good humored sectors within his mind were attempting to call a 'warm up' suicide mission. They weren't helping.
Suddenly, there came a knocking, jarring the man from his mental calisthenics and turning him to the door in an instant. The engineer quickly halted himself, however, as his ears calmly attempted to tell a brain that wanted nothing more than to be on autopilot for a few moments that despite its normal impulses, the noise hadn't come from that direction. He looked back at his terminal.
"Uh…Hello?" he called as his eyes focused on the display, narrowing suspiciously.
"May I come in?" came a newly familiar voice immediately, eyebrows launching themselves upward as if unfurling themselves for sails. The ex-Spectre nodded, then, thinking better of it, offered a quick 'yes' in reply. Then as if she had merely been waiting off stage for her chance to shine, the AI seemed to walk out onto the display hands clasped behind her back as she turned towards him. The two held this stare for some time, as if both waiting for the other to start.
"So, to what do I owe this particular pleasure?" asked James as he leaned towards the holo, fingers steepled into a classic 'well, well, well, what have we here?' pose. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to have the ironic grin that always seemed to accompany it; must have gotten lost, it'll show up sooner or later.
"I just happened to be passing through," began the intelligence coyly, the attempt at a disarming smile spreading across her ethereal face earning another fuzzy inclination on the Commander's face, "and I happened to be-"
"Spying," interrupted the engineer flatly, temporarily allowing the AI's annoyed expression to rejuvenate him. "I think the word you're looking for is spying."
"Checking up on the crew," continued Cortana smile fading as her tones rapidly approached a rather more businesslike model. At the correction, the seated man offered a shrug that seemed to say 'sure, if that's what you want to call it.' "And, after hearing some somewhat choice phrases from Miss Vas Neema, I noticed you seemed to be looking into our current predicament."
"She'll come around eventually." A small hand waved at an unoccupied portion of the screen, willing a window into being.
'-hepard I can at least bare the existence of AIs aboard the Normandy, if only because you can,' yelled a none too pleased quarian as a scene that was already haunting the recesses of his mind crept back into the present. 'But putting one inside your head? Even the Krogan wouldn't be so stupid. And you're just standing there like a bosh'tet hoping everything will be okay? You-'
"She can't really help it. It's how they were all raised," answered the veteran immediately, the defense not so much working its way out of his mouth through conventional means as automatically appearing within the air. The vid thankfully paused before it got to the real list of insults, he really didn't need to hear those again. He coughed as he regained the initiative, fixing the AI with a glare once more. "And let me guess, you thought you'd offer your 'Oh so considerable experience?'"
"Not how I'd put it, but yes."
"How... noble," inserted the ex-Spectre in a tone of voice that would have left seasoned villains scrambling for a minion to take notes on. Silence stretched outward in all directions as if trying to recover from a rather hard day. After a moment though, the Commander's voice prodded the personification off the metaphysical couch, pointed out it wasn't the only one with the tough end of the stick, caused the finally noticed embodiment to explode in surprise, and brushed the remains out of the door. Then with a sigh he added, "Can I be frank for a moment?"
"Look I understand you're upset, bu-" started Cortana before a raised hand cut her off, the symbols along her form streaming faster and faster.
"I'm sure you do. And I'm sure you'd probably understand exactly what this all means to the people of Vulpes too." Silence reformed itself and slunk back into the room as the words finished their bouncing, eyeing the recently vacated couch. It didn't make it more than a step before it was shown the door once more. "A couple hundred thousand people that, if you're as right as you think you are, don't really stand much of a chance..."
"If you're looking for someone to blame-"
"I'm not, at least I don't think I am," interjected the ex-Spectre again, watching the pictographs cascade all the quicker. It seemed as though even digital beings had buttons that he could push, food for thought. "I just wanted to make sure you were aware. You know, keeping you informed."
It hadn't exactly started out being bitter when his mind had first drawn up the plans for the statement. It was just that after passing through the halls of recent memories and trials to come, it just couldn't help itself.
"Well, as long as we're keeping each other informed," replied Cortana in the kind of dark sarcasm that's normally found before a new round rolls into the chamber of an overeager rifle, "I'd like to let it be known that even though the Chief might say otherwise, I believe the blame rests with me. It was my responsibility to ensure the Dawn detonated successfully, not his."
"You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you?" asked James suddenly after a minute of quiet contemplation, kicking silence to the curb once more.
"Yes, yes I would."
"Why?"
"Well, you might suspect that it's mainly because of my programming." A shrug erupted upon the Commander's shoulders neither confirming nor denying the belief. "But I'd like to believe it's because I know he'd do the same."
"Hmm, makes sense I suppose," replied the engineer, the words trailing further and further behind each successive term.
"So, satisfied?" inquired the UNSC intelligence, small hands directing themselves onto digital hips.
"For now," offered the human only partially honest, mind finally bringing out the table and pinning the thought to it. He peered at it carefully, walking around it at times for a better look before deciding that yes, he was in fact satisfied for the given moment. "And, for what it's worth, I'd like to apologize for forcing the issue with the Chief's… particular circumstances. It wasn't the time or place for it."
"Well, it would have made it to the light eventually," replied the small woman honestly as she crossed her arms in contemplation. "But, at least Samara was able to help defuse the situation a bit. Which reminds me… you may have to repair the lower bulkhead a tad…"
"I think… I think I don't really want to have detailed explanation of that right now," answered the engineer slowly as he filed the information away for slightly less stressful times. "So, you mentioned you might have a few ideas?"
A trio of red circles drew themselves onto the city map. On closer inspection, each one seemed to be encompassing one of the small metro's major power plants.
"A few, yes."
OOOO
Let us, for but a moment, walk along the beaches of another's psyche, and take in sights perhaps better left to the metaphorical setting. See the scorched earth of a troubled mind, the steaming pock marks along the thin pathway between our inner selves and the wild thoughts that lie beyond. In days previous, you may have seen more and more flexible materials begin to take hold of several large portions of the barricade, now, however no matter how hard you look, you see only steel stretching as far as the eyes dare see.
They hadn't spoken for the remainder of the bouts, they hadn't needed to, not after the understanding had been wedged back into place if somewhat haphazardly. Silence had ruled hand in hand with the occasional grunt of exertion or scuffle of feet on metal like a decorous aristocrat, bestowing its gifts in dignified spurts. And, when it had been time for the two to part, you couldn't have found a single word between them even if you had scrutinized the intervening distance with a microscope set to school teacher.
Thirteen plasma grenades remaining.
Thoughts had continued to swirl around his head like angry schools of ravenous fish, searching for some way back into the interior sectors of his mind, but the barriers were holding once more. Buttresses and spires had all been rebuilt, scoffing, if they could, at the former breaches as they patched over them with the sheer power of physical exertion and the constant maintenance of technical logistics.
One plasma rifle at full charge, two at half capacity.
In short order, the tide of the assault pond washed inward if somewhat metaphorically as the large human gathered up his vast assortment and arrayed them into more ordered and accessible piles. Thermal clips arranged themselves in formations best saved for zigzagging digital invaders from space, each standing and holding themselves precariously on end as if too frightened to fall over. Mass accelerator weaponry whirred, clicked, and shrank back down to more manageable dimensions as if practicing their best interpretation of hermit crabs.
Two plasma swords, new.
Which left only the gleaming segments of MJOLNIR, glistening like polished stones at the bottom of a dried-up river. And, despite the already pristine conditions of the armor, each was picked up slowly, reverently as a clean cloth was run redundantly along their surfaces. What was laid back down on the floor was more akin to olive hued segments of carnival mirrors than war torn armor.
Plasma pistols, three; new.
A whirring noise dutifully broke over the room as each segment of the suit clicked and locked into its proper place. There was no particular need for their assemblage, not as of yet anyways, but the resoluteness that was exerted onto each piece as they obediently followed its directions was not the kind to be argued with. And, then, with a hiss that cut through the dwindling echoes of power tools, a helmet was locked into place completing the skin, the shell, once more.
"Getting something to eat?" called Cortana calmly from her pedestal as he strode silently past towards the lift. The barest ghost of a nod managed to work its way downward as if gravity had momentarily decided to up its game. "Want me to tag along?"
M6 Grindell/Galilean Nonlinear Rifle, two full charges remaining.
"I'll be back soon," came the soft reply, as if the words had had to travel a long way even to reach a distance to take a shot at human and digital ears. A particularly large wave of mutual conundrums from the outer regions washed over and around the mental barricades like the tide against a cliff side.
"I-" started the AI as he strode past her holo pedestal, missing the tiny outstretched hand that raised itself after him for just a moment. "I'll see you soon."
Boots harder and heavier than crossbars propelled the Chief as silently into the lift as if he were wearing a pair of slippers. With a side thought, the exo-suit lifted a large arm and a control was pressed, and the doors slid shut with a whisper. The ride, however, was cut short far faster than expected as it opened up once again just after raising to the next floor, revealing a pacing Jack.
As the lift pinged its arrival to the general atmosphere, the softly muttering biotic's path included one more round of her blind loop before directing itself toward the new avenue. Before she had taken more than a single step into the closer confines, however, brown orbs seemed to finally grab the attention of a particularly troubled brain.
She looked up, paused, and then up again, eyes widening to levels better reserved for the likes of kitchenware as she finally took heed of the green tonnage already occupying the car. Her foot paused mid-step as her mouth began to work open and closed silently as if someone who had no particular idea of how a jaw worked had taken hold of hers and was determined to find out. A moment later, the same appendage made its journey backward, drawing the rest of the body back away from the adjustable threshold.
Max thermal clip capacity, fourty-eight.
The Spartan waited politely for the stupor to end, imitating to the casual observer a set of medieval armor standing hollowly at vigil. A new volley of thoughts launched themselves at the former breach as he watched the confused show, ignoring them as the checklist wove ever on. But, when it appeared as though the state was not likely to change, an arm raised itself once more and the door closed without a word.
Max weapon capacity, six-
This is, perhaps, the moment where if one were of a more amused persuasion that for some strange reason calm nondescript music might have suddenly began to pipe from some unseen vantage within the moving box. However, you might find it easy to believe that when the doors opened again on the Crew deck, soothing repetitive jazz stanzas did not venture out with the heavily armored human to greet the myriad of others present.
-five if additional clips deemed necessary.
Then again, it might very well have taken away from the uneasy glances several of the normal crew turned towards the needlessly armored individual as he strode casually past them. It might have even distracted from the Spartan's eyes quickly taking in Jacob, Garrus, and Kasumi sitting at the commons table and then dismissing them. Hell, it might have even have made you miss his steady stare sweeping to Rupert standing tentatively at his station as several of the formally waiting crew slowly backed away to allow for a new express route to the front of the line.
"Double again?" asked the sergeant as his hands started along the proper course even before the words had managed to make their way out into the intervening space. A nod worked its way along a familiar path in an unnecessary affirmation. "Alright, give me a minute."
The large man didn't budge, waiting for all intents and purposes as if someone's controller had simply run out of batteries. This did not, however, stop the all too active analytical sectors of his mind from briefly pushing into over drive as plans continued to draw themselves up. Each one then in turn moving through checkpoint after checkpoint as the best possible futures were determined and summarily evaluated. They would-
"Was there something else you needed?" inquired Rupert, hands outstretched and trembling ever so slightly as they held onto trays far longer than expected.
"No," came the soft response as a pair of hands relieved the poor man of his burdens. As he turned to plod back quietly to his alcove, however, a waving hand stole some modicum of his attention.
"Hey Chief, come on over. We were just about to-"
With current assumptions, six grenades possible for load out.
The doubts built up once more and slammed against the bulwarks, scattering their vain attempts to the four corners of his mind as he continued along his route, dismissing the rest of the offer and the concerned looks that followed as easily as flipping a switch.
Armor, one hundred percent functionality.
A pair of doors slid open once more, accepted the return of its former occupant, and closed once more, propelling itself downward. The thoughts attempted one more run, but were swatted aside easier now, hammered into the floor of his mindscape and locked into position and the wall thickening ever further.
Thirteen plasma grenades remain-
After all, one does not repair steel with wood.
OOOO
This Cerberus guardsman was, in fact, not wearing a red shirt, which may also be apparent because firstly, he is still alive at this given moment in time and secondly, because his name is Kauld. However, given your experiences with the particular diabolicalness of the writer, you may or may not wish to note this as important; we leave this up to you.
Regardless of your particular belief in the relevancy of certain details, one matter that is most definitely to be informed with import is that Kauld was no longer far too cold. In actuality, he was now over-abundantly on the warm side. This could be because he had been running at a near dead sprint, also known as the type of run you save for when to be slow is to be dead, for close to a half hour. It could be because his mind had gone into a sort of numbed overdrive as soon as it had deduced that the twisted remains of the men and women leaping at his colleagues were not to be undone with the efforts of their weapons and had switched into a more primordial survival mode. It could even be because the fires that had broken out around the city were starting to grow a bit intense in the face of their unchallenged fury.
Right now, however, it was probably because a segment of his armor had caught a rather small yet determined bit of flaming debris, but the man carried on mindlessly.
There was probably only one other member of the original troop that could probably still be counted amongst the living and the big bastard had a rather unfair advantage. Not that he really blamed the operative, mind you; he'd seen the writing on the wall same as the rest of them, the only difference was travelling by biotic was a tad faster.
He had to get to the ship before the scarred vanguard managed to get it running. Who knows, maybe young Charlie might even persuade him to hold off a bit before leaving. Huh, probably not. It's not like he could just run around hoping to hold off the horrors as he called for help, though. The moment the proximity alert had gone off at the cell's headquarters, the cleaner had calmly initiated the base's jamming gear and mentioned in an all too calm voice that they should go greet their guests.
Legs began to pump faster as Kauld rounded a bend and coming up the main thoroughfare was a veritable swarm of the ugly little ones. He ducked into an alley, luckily still heading in the right direction. Adrenaline began diverting more and more of itself into his system as he heard the scrabbling of hundreds of the bouncing shits skitter after him.
However, just as the spaceport came into view along with the rather large concentrations of the turned, a somewhat loud yell managed to break through the tumultuous din of the city and went an awful lot like this.
"You want it so bad? Fine! Take it you bastards!"
There was a whump like the largest throw rug in the multiverse suddenly and maliciously getting beaten clean, and then the soldier found that he wasn't on his feet anymore and was more than a bit dazed. He waited for that tide of bubbly tentacle little buggers to jump on him like they had done for the rest of the team, but they never came.
He managed to turn his head around just enough to see all the wonderful bits of detonated little monstrosities scattered and plastered behind him. Well, at least there was-
"What's this? One of them managed to almost make it here for the show," came a familiar voice rather offhandedly through what Kauld was rapidly suspecting was a concussion. He started blinking his eyes once more as he stared toward the rather large fires that had taken hold of the spaceport, noticing the big figure walking ahead of it. How the bloody hell had he- "Right, probably be useful to bring him along."
The armored man closed his eyes for what felt like only a moment but was soon awoken by a pair of rough hands dragging him to his feet.
"You still alive?" The man managed a weak nod as the shaking brought him a few steps further back into the land of the living. "Good, now come on-
-I think I may have made them angry."
Author's note II: Hope you all enjoyed. Sorry to spend another chapter just on the Normandy. Next one definitely won't be that case. Anyways, next chapter will be out as soon as I can, but you know [insert excuse here].
Next Chapter: Chapter 24 - Party Crashers